Cold Coffee
by Mlle M's
Summary: He knew things like how she secretly liked to be surprised – by him, to be more specific. Not that she would ever admit it. But he also knew she appreciated the simple things; this was one of them. He could feel the happiness radiating from her, and in the lightness of this moment almost believed that doing what felt right would be enough to keep her happy. 7x01 tag. Jane/Lisbon.


**A/N:**** I'll be contributing to the many tags to 7x01 with this, even though it's basically a product of my tired and yet sleepless mind. I just had to write this out, even though it's far from being my best work.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist, I only use it to satisfy my own imagination.**

**Title borrowed from Ed Sheeran's song _Cold Coffee_. **

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><p><em>Tell me if I'm wrong,<em>

_Tell me if I'm right,_

_And tell me if you need a loving hand_

_To help you fall asleep tonight._

_Tell me if I know,_

_Tell me if I do,_

_Tell me how to fall in love the way you want me to._

_- _Ed Sheeran_, **Cold Coffee**_

Marcus Pike stepped inside the elevator, thankful that it was empty – he was in no mood to face anyone else. Shoulders slightly slumped in a morose way, he reached a hand out to press on the first floor button. The other was holding a cup of coffee he'd just picked up from his old desk; a former colleague had brought it over to him before he'd went searching for Teresa. The drink had most certainly cooled down, but he was too caught up in his own thoughts to even care.

The ring of the elevator bell was his cue to strengthen his composure and step out of the cubicle for what would normally be the last time. He no longer had any reasons to come back to this place, nor anything – _anyone_ – holding him back. _Had he ever?_

He of course hadn't escaped the pitying looks his former colleagues had sent him earlier when he'd walked on what had once been his floor to say hi. He'd forgotten how gossip spread like wildfire in this building – as if there weren't enough bad guys out there to keep the FBI employees busy.

He shook his head at how pathetic he sounded. What had he been hoping for, seeking to see Teresa again? It certainly hadn't done any good to either of them. Her discomfort and utter awkwardness had hurt almost as badly as the phone call he'd received a couple of hours after she'd agreed to marry him once upon a time.

_"Marcus… I'm not coming to DC." Her voice shook then. "I'm so sorry."_

_It felt like everything he knew _– or thought he knew –_ was crumbling to the ground before him. All the plans he had for her, the future he wanted for them and the life they would've led destroyed by those few simple words. "I don't understand. You said…"_

_"I know what I said, and I wish I could take it back." He could hear the pain clear as bell in her voice, and knew she was hurting almost as much as he was. Still, her words stung. "Please believe me when I say I never wanted to hurt you."_

_"Where are you?" he managed to ask in a reasonably steady voice._

_"At the airport."_

_"And where's Jane?"_

_He heard her take a sharp intake of breath. "Somewhere with the TSA," she finally answered._

_"Well you don't say." It came out harsher then he'd intended, but he found that he had the right to be slighted at the moment. _

_A heavy silence weighted on both of them for a couple of seconds._

_Finally, he took in a deep breath. "So this is it, then. Our last phone call."_

_"I'm sorry, Marcus. I really am. You're a good man."_

Just not enough to compete with Patrick Jane._ "Goodbye, Teresa."_

_"Goodbye Marcus." It had almost been a whisper. He'd hung up._

If he was honest with himself, he'd thought that maybe her seeing him again would've had her rethinking her decision and the life she'd turned her back on. He hadn't been able to do anything from DC, miles too many away from her to confront her about it. But after looking her in the eyes that day, he'd known there was no possibility of going back; she had already turned the page on them.

He was about to walk out of the building when honking coming from the parking lot caught his attention. He stepped outside and was greeted by the sight of nothing less than a shiny vintage Cadillac being driven away towards the exit. He didn't even need to look up to know who were in it.

He felt anger rise in his chest – something he'd thought he was done with. Jane wasn't a fool; he also knew that Teresa could've settled for a lot better than him. He, Marcus Pike, for instance. Heck, any other man with less emotional baggage would've fit the bill.

A long lost memory resurfaced, something someone had once told him a long time ago: _"There's a reason why some people stay together. They give each other something nobody else can."_

Jane had little to give to Teresa and, like any master of deception, hid it under sunny appearances and shiny surprises. He couldn't promise her anything concrete; hence why he didn't – _couldn't_ – make plans. And Teresa gladly took whatever he could give her. The thought made his insides churn in revolt at the unfairness of the situation: he on the other hand had been promising her _everything_: a life, a home, a family. A _future_. _He'd had plans._

But in the end, Jane had told her he loved her.

_He_ hadn't.

And that was all she'd needed.

He took a sip of his coffee, but grimaced at the taste. He'd wanted nothing more than the sensation of the burning liquid sliding down his throat to give him some strength, but instead had been greeted with the opposite: cold coffee. He wasted no time throwing it away in the nearest trash can he could find, with wistful thoughts of how coffee had once always seemed to taste better when he was taking it with _her_.

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><p>With the Cadillac he drove her to a small coffee shop outside of the city, a place he'd found months ago on one of his quests to discover his new surroundings. <em>Le petit café<em> had their coffee home brewed, and their pastries freshly baked in the morning. He'd told himself he would bring Lisbon one day, knowing she'd love it. He hadn't planned on _one day_ actually turning into _months_, though – but the wait had been worthwhile.

He'd hesitated with taking her out to dinner in one of the city's restaurants – she deserved all the pampering she could get – but knew he'd taken the right decision when she let out an adorable moan after her first sip of the beverage.

"What?" she asked self-consciously after catching his amused smile.

"Nothing," he shrugged, taking in turn a sip of his tea, a faint smile in the corners of his mouth.

Having been friends for so long had its many advantages. He knew her, could practically read her like an open book – something he'd forced himself not to do when she was dating Pike in order to give her some privacy. Also, there were some things he just hadn't wanted to know. Only now, turning back, did he realize his mistake: he should have. It would've made things a lot less complicated. But he wasn't about to dwell on the past right now – not when the future seemed so much better.

So he knew things like how she secretly liked to be surprised – by _him_, to be more specific. Not that she would ever admit it. But he also knew she appreciated the simple things; _this_ was one of them. He could feel the happiness radiating from her, and in the lightness of this moment almost believed that doing what felt right would be enough to keep her happy.

They talked about the events of the last several days: about Fisher's leave and the team's new rookie, for instance, while carefully omitting Marcus Pike.

"Cho doesn't seem to suspect anything," she stated matter-of-factly.

"He isn't putting an effort in the doubt. He doesn't want to know," he replied with a smile as a memory came up. "He was skeptic at the idea of you and me as more than friends a few months ago."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"That night when Grace was abducted, Cho, Rigsby and I were at the local bar. Rigsby practically told me that he and Grace could see us together."

Her eyebrows shot up, a mock grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

"And I believe Cho's exact words were: _Jane and Lisbon? Yeah right._"

"Really?" she said in mild surprise.

He shrugged. "Well, not everyone is as perceptive as Abbott. He knows something's going on, by the way."

"Can't say I'm that surprised," she replied, and he knew she was thinking back to the time when Abbott would refer to him as her boyfriend. He'd been playing matchmakers from the start.

They hadn't noticed how it had started to grow dark outside; time flew even faster these days.

"You should finish your coffee," he said gently, "it's getting cold."

Despite how she'd seemed to love the taste, he knew she hadn't touched it during their whole conversation. She had something on her mind. He'd also noticed the signs of nervousness in her posture, had read it in her eyes. She was hiding something from him, or didn't know how to approach the subject.

"Thank you for this," she said softly, nodding towards the window giving to the parking lot, where the Cadillac awaited them.

"It's my pleasure," he replied, not breaking eye contact; she _still_ didn't seem to realize that he would put out all the stops for her. In fact, that was the only plan he had right now: to love and cherish her for as long as she shall let him.

It was all he had to offer her at the moment, but he knew it might not be enough. And he dreaded the day she would realize that.

"And-"

Of course, the waitress chose that moment to come by their table; their impromptu appearances always seemed to coincide with the worst possible times.

"How are we doing here? Can I get you anything else?" she asked sweetly, her eyes only for him.

Clarisse, said the nametag, had been openly flirting with him ever since she'd guided them to their booth. He didn't mind, courteously ignoring her advances like he usually did, but couldn't say the same for Lisbon. Her lips had formed a tight line, and he knew she'd been biting back a snarky comment intended to make her back off. He found that he shamelessly enjoyed seeing her jealous.

"No, I think we're good," Lisbon answered before he could, not even trying to hide the animosity in her eyes.

Clarisse seemed taken aback by her coldness and glanced his way, but was disappointed to find him only amused by the situation.

He paid her their due before she could go and bring the ticket (where she would've no doubt scribbled down her number), and told her to keep the money so that she wouldn't be coming back.

"Jealousy suits you." He'd always found it both amusing and enticing the way her eyes flared up with anger when she was mad – usually at him; but _this_ was a refreshing change.

"I wasn't jealous," she said indignantly.

"High voice," he pointed out with a smile, and she looked away to try and hide hers. "A little bit of jealousy in a relationship is healthy." _It was good to know that someone was afraid of losing you._ "Now, what were you saying before we were so rudely interrupted?"

Her face turned serious and her eyes were hesitant; it made him apprehend her next words.

"I have something for you too."

"Really?" He looked at her curiously as she took something out of her jean pocket.

_A set of keys._

"You don't need to take them right away if you don't want to. It's a step. They'll be there and I just thought-"

He'd gently taken the hand holding the keys in his, and had leaned over to kiss her from across the table so she wouldn't see his misty eyes. Those keys would open the door to his first real home in over a decade; he felt slightly overwhelmed. So a kiss was always a lovely trick to replace words when they were superfluous or just couldn't be said.

That one was very much like their first: tentative, hopeful, and full of promise. They kept it sweet and slow, all thoughts of Lisbon's cold coffee forgotten.

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><p>They'd made the mistake of staying in bed a <em>little<em> longer the next morning, which had resulted in a rushed breakfast and no time to boil the water to avoid coming in late for work. They were still keeping _them_ a secret. Jane late was nothing unusual; she on the other hand would've raised eyebrows. Thankfully there'd been no traffic jams on the way.

She'd just come out from Abbott's office where she'd handed him the completed Geist case file when Jane stepped out of the elevator.

"Good morning Lisbon. Coffee?" he asked her with a knowing smile.

"Sure," she replied, matching his breezy tone. He knew how vital coffee was to her in the mornings.

She made her way back towards her desk, and turned on her computer as she patiently waited for Jane to come back. Only then did she notice the pen resting on her notepad. The first page wasn't blank; a note had been left, but she didn't remember writing it. With a frown, she grabbed it, and it only took her two seconds in the reading to figure out it had been from Marcus.

She then heard Jane approaching, and raised her head in time to see his smile falter as he glanced at the notepad she had in her hands.

She pretended she hadn't noticed, and gave him a grateful smile as he put the mug on her desk. "Thank you for the coffee."

"You're welcome." His smile didn't reach his eyes. After a pause, he finally nodded at the notepad in her hands. "What did he write?"

"Oh, just that he was in the building and wanted to see me." She tried to keep her voice as casual as possible.

He nodded, standing there a couple of seconds longer looking pensive, before going to sit on his couch to drink his tea as if that last minute hadn't happened.

She took a sip of her coffee, its warmth sinking in blissfully, and marveled at the fact that he always seemed to make it better than her. It was quite paradoxical for someone who didn't drink the beverage. She wasn't about to point it out to him though; he'd just tease her about how he added an extra spoonful of love, or quote any other corny comeback picked from the Stone Age.

She couldn't help but wonder if it had been his jealousy talking earlier. She recalled his words from the previous night: _a little bit of jealousy in a relationship is healthy_. But in Jane's case, his fears weren't superficial; they never had been in the past, and most certainly couldn't have been described as _healthy_. Caring about someone was also taking the risk of losing that person; and Jane had lived by that rule for almost twelve years.

She knew he was afraid of losing her – in every sense of the word. Fear for her security was one thing; but Marcus' words had truly fazed him. She could see the self-doubt plaguing him last night when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

But things were different now, and she wasn't going anywhere – she wanted him to know that. They didn't need to have it all figured out at the moment; they were already moving forward, _together_. And that was all she'd ever asked.

Plans could wait, especially when there was a good long road ahead of them.

She threw Marcus' note in the bin next to her desk – and from the corner of her eye, saw Jane raise his head – then glanced around the office to see if anyone was in clear earshot. They didn't have a case yet, which explained why the bullpen was fairly calm. She turned her chair around towards his couch.

"Jane?" she said softly.

"Hmm?" He lowered his teacup as he met her eyes.

"I love you."

Of all the things she could have said to him, he clearly hadn't been expecting that. But his smile was one of the most stunning ones she'd ever seen, and she instantly found herself grinning back. Warmth grew in her chest, coiling low in her stomach.

Bliss that coffee just couldn't compare.

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><p><strong><span>AN: I hope this wasn't all too bad. Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated!**


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